


AKA Odessa

by sirendoom



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, SHIELD, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26092999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirendoom/pseuds/sirendoom
Summary: Natasha was given a mission years ago to escort an engineer but encounters a mysterious enemy along the way.
Kudos: 2





	AKA Odessa

**Author's Note:**

> you guys probably know how this story pans out but i wanted to really explore some emotional natasha in this little one shot

A dry wind tugs at Natasha’s chador as a bead of sweat traces its way down the back of her neck. She watches the bearded man, Shiva Panahi, and the clean shaven man exchange words, and then the latter claps a hand against Shiva’s back and ducks through a low doorway. The men around Natasha follow, so she moves with them, into a dimly lit room decorated with colorful cloths and embroidered pillows. Shiva’s expression just barely reads as nervous, but his act is strong enough that the other men don’t notice.

Then the clean shaven man asks a question and Shiva’s face hardens, and Natasha understands just enough of the language to know he’s about to compromise sensitive information, so she decides it’s time.

Her elbow jabs the man on her right in the neck and the man on the left collapses when her foot slams into the back of his knee. When they fall, she pulls her pistols from the folds of her dress and shoots the other men down. At Shiva’s shocked expression, she pulls off the chador and shakes her red hair out, then steps out of the wide dress to reveal a tighter combat-ready suit underneath. “Follow me.”

He doesn’t hesitate to slip through doorways and hurry down shaded alleys after her. As they enter the blinding whiteness of the open market, a bullet glances off a bronze statue and Natasha pulls Shiva with her. They seem to lose the gunman somewhere in the crowd as terrified shoppers scramble in every direction, and Natasha squints down the simmering lane. Her eyes land on the covered American army truck guarded by two armed soldiers and she leads him down a side street that circles around to the back of the truck.

“Get in, I’m right behind you,” Natasha hisses.

“How do I know this isn’t a setup?”

“You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me when I say I want to get you safely to Moscow.”

He nods once, then slides under the tarp and disappears; Natasha waits a moment, then climbs in after him. This truck is full of supplies—MREs, weapons, gas cans. Natasha takes a seat on a crate labeled  _ AMMUNITION _ and Shiva rests next to a stack of rifles.

“Who sent you?” Shiva asks.

“Not important. I’m getting you to safety, away from the Triad.”

“You mention Moscow. Isn’t Moscow involved with the Triad?”

“I don’t represent Moscow,” she answers. “I’m with a third party. But don’t worry about it, I’m getting you across the border, and we’ll be safer up north.”

The truck starts up and begins pulling away from the busy street.

“You are doing this because you want my findings on recreating the machine used to create Captain America?”

“No,” she says. “I want to protect you and your information from the Triad. I’m not interested in another Banner situation.”

Shiva’s face is next to unreadable. “Do you know where this truck is heading?”

“Yes. Northeast. We’re hitching it to the border. Try to get some rest, I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

He looks relieved, and Natasha knows he hasn’t had a chance to sleep for more than four hours in the past few days, so she isn’t surprised when hardly ten minutes pass and he’s already snoring. She glances back at the opening in the tarp and watches the road rush past for a while, going over the plan in her head. Hours pass; they stop once, but Natasha finds out it’s only for the driver to take a leak. Otherwise, the truck never stops. It’s following a route to resupply some soldiers on the Azerbaijani border, but the stowaways will be long gone by the time the drivers reach their destination.

A little while later, she knows it’s time to walk, so she shakes Shiva gently and nods towards the tarp. She jumps first, ducking into a roll and coming up on her feet, but the engineer isn’t so graceful. He skins his elbows and cheek and stumbles to his feet covered in dust.

“The road that splits off just up here will take us to a private airstrip. They couldn’t discreetly fly any planes in on short notice, but we’ll take a helicopter to the shore.”

“Of the Black Sea?” he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice, though he is very good at hiding it. Natasha has begun to like this—his honed ability to conceal and deceive. It’s rather reminiscent of her, many years ago, before she perfected her abilities, and she’s surprised to find herself in this peculiar Iranian nuclear engineer.

“Yes. We’ll be crossing into Ukraine. Safer than trying to fly over the Caucasus.”

Shiva nods, then remains silent for the rest of the long trek. When they finally come upon the tiny airstrip, a sheen of sweat glistens on Natasha’s forehead and she swipes at it with her sleeve. She could probably do with a glass of water. Actually, she could  _ definitely _ do with one. Shiva is showing the first signs of dehydration, and before they board the small chopper, she retrieves two bottles of water from the squat tan comms building.

Natasha considers asking Shiva how he’s doing, but she hates small talk, so she drains her bottle and scowls at the horizon. The sun has just passed over the corrugated landscape, shortening the shadows and warming the gleaming sands that rise and fall for miles in every direction—hills and mountains, valleys, lakes, ridges. The Iranian terrain is treacherous, but Natasha finds it oddly peaceful; the mountains look softer around the edges compared to the steep, jagged crags that sprawl about the Russian terrain. As they board the helicopter, she feels something in her chest: a dull pang, almost like longing. She shakes it off and dons the headset wired to the pilot’s seat as Shiva does the same on the copilot’s side.

The flight is long and too noisy for small talk, which Natasha is thankful for. They make it over the border and can see the Black Sea on the horizon, but the fuel gauge dictates that they land on the wrong side of the Pontic Mountains, at an airstrip outside a small city. Natasha has no contacts in this place. She ditches the helicopter and hotwires an old silver sedan from the parking lot, then finds her way to the road that will take them up around the mountains to the Georgian port, nearly six hours away.

“It’s too quiet,” Shiva says, breaking the hours of silence that lay between them.

Natasha knows he’s right. She likes the silence, sure, but she finds it hard to believe that the Triad lost a huge asset and only sent one gunman, who ended up getting lost in the crowd back at the market. “I know. Stay sharp.”

His eyes flick to the window, and she can see the discomfort across his face as he adds, “Is this normal?”

“Nothing is.” Her hands grip the wheel as the looming mountains grow steadily larger. “Can’t be sure of anything, really. Hopefully we’re just lucky.”

Shiva reaches over and Natasha tenses, but he retrieves a CD from the pocket over her head and inspects it critically. As he inserts it into the CD slot, Natasha catches a glimpse of red on black before an aggressive guitar riff fills the car and she barely hides her smile.

_ Don’t wanna be an American idiot _ ….

Six CDs and a gas stop later, they ditch the car at the port in Poti for a gigantic ferry. Natasha breathes a sigh of relief when they pass the vehicle registration for passengers bringing their cars on board, and they take a seat on the lowest level, in the back corner, a concealed and defensible location. She hasn’t slept since she retrieved Shiva, but she knows if she lets her guard down at any time, enemies could strike.

Her eyelids begin to feel heavy. It’s been—what, almost twenty-four hours now? No, she hadn’t slept the day before she’d encountered Shiva, so it was at least thirty-six hours. There’s still a twelve hour ferry ride ahead of them.

“Miss?”

It takes a moment to register it’s Shiva addressing her. She turns her head. “Mm?”

“You’ve been driving all day. I’m starving, and you must be, too. Let’s get some food and you can get some rest.”

It sounds nice. It really does. Hunger will keep her awake longer, though. She mulls over this.

“I’m not hungry,” she lies, “but I should go with you to be safe.”

They leave their seats for the galley and as they push through the doors, Natasha’s stomach betrays her and gurgles loudly when the smells of pizza and burgers reach her. She and Shiva exchange glances, and the next thing she knows, they’re back at their seats with two burgers and a platter of fries. Natasha’s burger is stacked with two patties, a leaf of lettuce, ketchup, a slice of pepperjack cheese, and two crispy strips of bacon. She usually doesn’t indulge herself like this, but… god, she’s gone too long without real food. The burger disappears in minutes and, as she feared, she feels her brain begin to slow and consider just how lovely a nap would be.

“You should sleep,” Shiva says unhelpfully. “I’ll keep a watch out.”

Her instincts tell her he doesn’t know what to look for, it’ll be too late by the time she’s awake, and anyways, she’s a former Widow, she can take another day without sleep, but then Shiva starts to softly hum and her own eyes work against her, and the next thing she knows she’s jerking awake and the sun is low on the horizon. Shiva…  _ good _ . Shiva is still seated next to her, alive and well.

“I could’ve stayed up,” Natasha says, and her voice is hoarse with sleep.

“But you didn’t,” he says with a small smile. “I’m glad you’re finally awake because I have had to urinate for the past hour. Do you think it’s safe enough for me to go on my own or do you want to come with again?”

Natasha yawns and scrubs at her eyes, then nods once and moves to get up. The two make their way to the restrooms and take turns keeping watch, then return to their seats unbothered.

“I don’t like this,” Natasha says, after they’ve been seated for a few more minutes. “We can’t have lost them this easily. Something isn’t right.”

“If someone was on this ship for us, they would have attacked while you were asleep. I’m not much of a threat.”

“Fair enough.” She folds her arms and scans the passengers in front of them, trying to pick out any discrepancies that could point to an ambush, but she’s either losing her touch, or they really did manage to outrun the Triad. She hopes it’s the latter, though the former is much more likely, but the last five hours of the ride go over smoothly and they step out in Odessa a couple hours past midnight. Shiva breathes in the fresh air and a smile plays at his face, but Natasha pulls him towards a public garage. They still have to make the journey through Ukraine and up to Moscow, so they have no room to get comfortable.

“How about this one?”

Natasha turns her head to see Shiva eyeing a sleek black Maserati, then barks out a laugh. “ _ That _ won’t get us anywhere  _ near _ Moscow. We need something sturdier, like, uh…” She glances over the rows of cars and snaps. “This!”

There it is: a white Wrangler, no windows, the spare tire cover sporting a playboy symbol, too easy to steal, another serendipity in this too-easy rescue mission. Natasha hotwires it and as soon as it starts up, electric guitar screeches through the speakers. She turns it down and can’t keep from smiling to herself. God, if S.H.I.E.L.D. would let her drive a civilian car, this is  _ exactly _ what it would be. She’s so caught up in the moment, she barely registers Shiva’s question.

“Hm? Subtle? No, this is fine, these roads will be pretty empty all night, and once we get out of Odessa, it’s a straight shot to Moscow.”

Shiva buckles in and wiggles in his seat a bit. “My legs are so damn stiff.”

“Put your feet up,” Natasha suggests. “Bend them a little. Stretch it out. It’s an even longer drive than the ferry was.”

They turn out of the garage and take the road up the coast. Past the docks and the city, the beach thins and the land inclines until they’re speeding along a narrow cliff road. Natasha’s grip on the wheel is much more relaxed than her drive to Poti and the music is more her speed. This has gone so much better than she’d expected. She’d thought Shiva would be rather disagreeable, having been kidnapped back and forth for years, but he’s so goddamn similar to her, she’s even tempted to start up small talk. Her conscience gets the better of her, though, and she steps on the gas a little harder.

_ Bang! _

_ Bang! Bang! _

The Jeep swerves out and crashes through the guard rail, and Natasha barely registers that she needs to get out of her seatbelt and get Shiva out of his, then kick out of the window and tumble onto the ground as the Jeep careens down into the dark ocean hundreds of meters below.

_ Gunshots _ . Natasha has no shield, no cover, so she uses her own body to cover Shiva as she pulls the gun from her hip holster. She scopes the area. No sign of a shooter. Nothing… except….

“There you are,” she whispers, aiming for the faint green glint of a night vision scope up ahead. At this distance, her pistol will be wildly inaccurate, but she fires a clip into the darkness. There’s no answering shot for a moment, and she thinks she must have landed a lucky hit, but then a fourth bullet rips through the air and her side explodes in pain. She doubles over and hears a strangled gasp behind her, and realization sinks into her like lead. Her hands are on the gushing wound in Shiva’s chest and she rips the fabric to find a nasty hole right where his right lung is. It’s too late, too far from medical help, she knows; she’s failed, she’s lost an important asset and a good man, and as he drowns in his own blood in her arms, she drags him across the road to the meager cover of a large rock. He dies quickly—too quickly—and a single tear settles in the corner of his eye. Natasha feels a sob threatening to rack her body as grief strikes her; she pushes his eyelids down and tears a strip from his robe, then tightens it around her torso to staunch the bleeding from her own wound. The bullet she recognizes: a Soviet slug, old school, packs a punch, no rifling. The shooter is still out there somewhere, and she is going to kill him. She reloads her pistol and stumbles to her feet, her breaths sharp and shallow and her head swimming.

“Coward!” she screams. “ _ Coward _ ! You’d shoot a car from a safe distance but won’t face me?!”

There’s a beat of silence, and then she spots a silhouette on the road, all dark but for the moonlight glinting metallically off his left arm. Without thinking, she shoots, and he rolls out of the way, then fires something from his gun. Natasha realizes just in time and dives for the cover of the rock as the road explodes in a blinding flash, sending chunks of asphalt chasing the Jeep to the sea below. When the dust settles, the shooter has vanished without a trace, leaving Natasha with a ruined road and the body of Shiva.

“I’m sorry,” she says as she kneels over him. “You didn’t deserve this. I’m so sorry.”

She begins filling his pockets with bits of the road, anything that will weigh him down, and once she’s satisfied, she carries him to the cliff edge, plants a kiss on his forehead, and lets him go. For good measure, she fires a clip out at the ocean and steels herself before finally turning back to the road.

“Hill.”

A moment of silence. What time is it in Washington?

“ _ Hill _ .”

“Copy, copy, what’s your status, Romanoff? Is everything alright?”

“No,  _ nothing _ is alright, I just got shot at by some Soviet assassin and my charge is dead. I’m hit. I don’t have a car. I’m in the middle of Ukraine. I need a fucking extraction.”

“Roger that. Sorry to hear it, Romanoff. We’re coming to get you.”

Natasha clicks off her earpiece and places a hand against her lower torso gingerly. The cloth has bled through badly already—it’s a nasty wound, something she needs stitched up as soon as possible. She scans the area looking for that green reflection or metal glint, but sees nothing, so she sits herself against the guard rail and takes a shaky breath. How long had he been following them? Was he waiting in Ukraine for them? Had he been there on the ferry, lurking in the shadows? She suddenly doubts the entire trip, trying to wrack her brain for the moment they’d been made. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . This is a fucking disaster.

Helicopter blades gradually grow louder until a ladder drops to retrieve Natasha. She grips the bottom rungs, but  _ shit _ , her side is ablaze with pain and she’s already exhausted from the exertion, so she shouts into her earpiece, “Reel me in!”

  
The ladder swings back and forth, but Natasha clutches it with her remaining strength until she finally collapses on the floor of the military chopper and the door swings shut. Hill is immediately at her side, peeling away the layers around the wound and calling for medical assistance. If Natasha hadn’t been well-trained for life-or-death situations, she probably would’ve passed out, but as it is, she lays there, gasping, doing everything she can to stay as still as possible as the medic on board cleans, stitches, and bandages the wounds, front and back. If the bullet had only been an inch lower, it would have lodged in her hipbone and protected Shiva from his fate; if it had been an inch to the right, it would have struck a major artery and she would have already bled to death. The assassin had not been interested in killing her, she realizes—he was only there to take out the man with the information. If the Triad could not have it, no one could. His shot had been deathly accurate; he had shot through her meat shield and hit Shiva in a place that would kill him, while being sure to shoot Natasha through an area that wouldn’t kill her. She’d never seen that advanced sniping  _ ever _ , not in the Red Room, not in the KGB, certainly not in S.H.I.E.L.D. Whoever he was, he had flown under her radar for far too long, and as soon as she was in better condition, she was going to hunt him down.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you all enjoyed ! this is my first published writing so feedback is greatly appreciated :)


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